


Things Are Tough All Over (The Ain't Superstitious Remix)

by inksheddings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Superstition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On November 11, 1811, some dude named Benjamin McColloch was born. Stupid name. Kick-ass beard—<i>maybe</i> supernaturally influenced. But damn, that chin curtain looked awesome.</p><p>Or:</p><p>Dean wants some reassurance, but Sam just wants some sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Are Tough All Over (The Ain't Superstitious Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EmmaDeMarais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaDeMarais/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Superstition is Just a Word in the Dictionary](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/48695) by emmademarais. 



> Thank you, **emmademarais** , for allowing me the pleasure of remixing your story. 
> 
> Thanks, also, to my ever-supportive Super Beta, **whymzycal**! You are the best.  <3
> 
> The "Ain't Superstition" portion of the title comes from [Howlin' Wolf's song "I Ain't Superstitious."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rb8bzRZCGDY&feature=kp)

** Things Are Tough All Over (The Ain't Superstitious Remix) **

 

On November 11, 1611, the Little Rhinos martial arts class was scheduled for 4:00 p.m.- 4:30 p.m. in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. Dean laughed. "Man, those Middle Ages kids had it going on. Good for them."

"Not the Middle Ages, Dean," Sam said through a yawn. He was already tucked in bed and everything. "That period falls—"

"Shut up and go to sleep, Sammy. The Little Rhinos and I need to talk to their coach about editing before publishing."

But, yeah, unless some time-traveling demon thought a bunch of three-to-five-year-olds could wreak havoc—well, okay. Still, more than likely just shitty proofreading.

 

On November 11, 1711, Gideon Johnson wrote about a yellow fever and smallpox epidemic in Charleston, South Carolina. Dean figured if either of those diseases had been created by some supernatural asshole, then vaccines wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about them. 

Nah, it wasn't the diseases that would get you, it was the vaccines. Just ask Niveus Pharmaceuticals and Jenny McCarthy.

"Jenny McCarthy _what?_ " Sam mumbled. Dean could hear him rolling over on his tiny, squeaky little mattress. 

"Exactly, Sammy. Exactly."

Sam said something about vaccinating Dean's brain and pulled the blanket up over his head. 

 

On November 11, 1811, some dude named Benjamin McColloch was born. Stupid name. Kick-ass beard— _maybe_ supernaturally influenced. But damn, that chin curtain looked awesome.

 

On November 11, 1911, several midwest states dealt with a record cold snap right after experiencing the highest temperatures the area had ever seen. During the day, temperatures reached the 80s, but come night they dropped down into single digits. A blizzard and a tornado hit Wisconsin on the same damn day. 

"Great Blue Norther, huh. Sounds like a lame porno to me. But okay, just bad weather, basically," Dean said, nodding to himself. "Nothing demonic about that. A storm cellar and a decent coat, you're good."

"Oh, for God's sake, Dean. Shut the damn laptop and get some sleep. It's . . . three o'clock in the morning."

"Nah, I'm good. Not really all that tired." It sounded lame even to Dean's ears and he cringed, glad the light from the laptop wasn't bright enough to let Sammy notice.

"Dean, are you really gonna wait until it's the 12th in Hawaii before you close your eyes? 'Cos that's the only time zone left." 

Well, damn.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You must be dreaming. This is all a dream, Sammy."

Sam threw his covers off and sat down at the small table with Dean. "November 11, 2011 was yesterday. It's over. Nothing happened. We went to the library, did some research, and ate pretty damn good Chinese food for dinner. All in all another boring day in the life of the Winchesters."

Dean glared at Sam. Their life was anything but boring. Dean would kill for a little bit of boring now and then. Hell, he _had._

Sam put his hands up, palms out. "Okay. Okay, yeah, bad wording. But you know what I'm saying." 

Sam tried to close the laptop but Dean stopped him.

"Wait, wait just a minute. Bad shit did happen those days. And I looked up other dates, too, like June 6, 1966. You know what happened then, Sammy? The NFL and the AFL merged on that day. Now, don't you tell me that wasn't some sort of hocus pocus." 

Sam, quite obviously, wasn't buying any of Dean's orchestrated rambling. "You could plug in pretty much any date and find out all sorts of traumatizing information. Murders, natural disasters, kidnappings. Hell, lots of stuff doesn't even get reported—child abuse, cancer diagnoses. You can't really believe that every bad thing that happens is demon-related, Dean."

"Did I say that? Did I? No, I did not. I'm just— I'm—"

"Trying desperately to reassure yourself that bad shit happens just because? Not because of some stupid date?"

Dean's head and shoulders slumped. "Well, when you put it that way."

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes closed. Dean felt crappy enough without worrying he'd kept Sam from a good night's sleep. Dean's mood hadn't exactly been the best the last couple of days.

"Okay, look," Sam said, sitting up and pointing at the laptop. "Check out some of those dates again. But this time don't focus on the bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Just— You were going about it all wrong."

"'Scuse me?"

Sam huffed, frustrated, and turned the laptop toward himself. "Let's just stick to today—or yesterday, I mean." Sam started typing. "November 11, 2011. Let's see what happened."

Like Sam said, Dean was sure he'd find murders, suicides, drug overdoses, fatal car accidents. Very unlikely to be demon-related, especially if dates like 11-11-11 held any sort of significance. Still, what if demons were influencing so-called "small" day-to-day tragedies? Wouldn't that, in the end, be just as influential as fucking up the world in one big go?

"Here we go," Sam said. "Take a look."

Dean looked at the screen, feeling dubious at best. And he'd been right to feel that way. "Soul Train, Sammy? What the hell." 

"Yeah, they held their 25th awards ceremony yesterday in Atlanta. What, you think demons influenced who won?"

"Jesus, Sammy."

"Look at the next tab, Dean."

Sam had a couple more tabs open, Dean now noticed. Still grimacing, he clicked on the next one. "Twins Betsy and Katie Overman turned 11," Dean read. "Really, Sam? Some kids' birthday?"

"They turned 11 _on_ 11-11-11. They probably think that's pretty cool."

Dean didn't exactly have a ton of fond memories surrounding either his or Sam's birthdays, but maybe he could see average, non-demon-and-ghost-hunting kids getting worked up about a birthday like the one described on the screen. He nodded slightly. "Yeah, okay, I suppose."

"One more tab, Dean. Just don't hit me."

Well, maybe Dean would have to hit Sam, just for mentioning it. But he checked the last tab and—

"Aw, Sam."

Unlike the other tabs, this one didn't describe events that occurred yesterday, but a bit farther in the past. January 24, 1979.

"Look, Dean. A lot of bad things happen every day, regardless of the day, the month, the year, the goddamn minute and second. But decent things happen too. Good things. Just— We don't have to buy trouble, you know? We don't have to actually look for it to find it, not us. And we don't need to reassure ourselves that it isn't around, because we know it is. We just have to—"

"Take it as it comes," Dean said.

"Yeah. The bad and the decent, Dean. If we forget about what's worth it—"

"Then what's the point?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked at Sam, still so fucking earnest after everything they'd been through, and typed one more thing into the search box. He turned it so Sam could see.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I'm getting old. Which means you're—"

"Shut it, Sammy."

Dean shut the laptop and stumbled over to his bed, hearing Sammy do the same. He looked at the clock, the illuminated numbers telling him it was nearly 3:30 a.m. He didn't even try to figure out what time it was in Hawaii before falling asleep.

 

**end**


End file.
